


Fading

by chensha



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hallucinations, Rôti, will graham has not yet been helped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:52:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chensha/pseuds/chensha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham heard the roar of the ocean inside him whenever he tried to protect his ears from the sounds of shrieking animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading

Fading, like the color red. Like a drop of blood in the ocean - falling, plunging, now a dark tangle of color, its wispy fingers searching as it diffuses in shapes resembling silk curtains blowing in the wind. 

Will Graham heard the roar of the ocean inside him whenever he tried to protect his ears from the sounds of shrieking animals. He could feel his blood turn to cold saltwater even as his skin prickled with fevered sweat. He hadn't eaten fish since he contaminated the crime scene. He hadn't eaten much of anything, really. He could feel himself slipping away into the murders he immersed himself in, and more than ever he was terrified of drowning.

Black ink dripping onto creamy white paper, both gifts from Hannibal. A line of water to help spread the ink. The paper is folded in half, crushing the droplets, leaving behind black bloodstains in the shape of a moth. In Will's opinion, the Rorschach inkblot test was a piece of shit. He was only doing it for lack of anything better to do. He felt like he was reading tea leaves as he stared at the drying ink through tired eyes, trying to conjure an image from the random blots, as if they had the answers to his questions. Was he insane? Physically sick? He collected strays, for Christ's sake. And yet he still felt those genuine violent urges, those vivid memories of the kills he knew he didn't make. And of that one kill he  _did_ make.

Sensing something coming, Will repeated the exercise Hannibal taught him. It made him feel silly, but it helped, and he was desperate. "It's"-a glance at the clock-"9:40 pm. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham." He repeated the name. He closed his eyes, trying to internalize the words, to absorb them and make them true, but the cold white eyes of Garrett Jacob Hobbs stared at him from behind his eyelids. 

Suddenly his world became yellow, and without even a swing of the pendulum he found himself panicking in the middle of a sunny kitchen, his arm held tightly around Abigail Hobbs. Her hands clutched at his arm, both for support as he dragged her away from the door and as part of a weak attempt at self-defense. He felt the smooth handle of a knife in his hand, Abigail's hair in his face, an intruder rounding the corner into their room. No time to narrate, he had to hurry or he would die before he finished. He murmured into Abigail's ear, begging her to be still, promising everything would be over soon. Warm blood gushed over them as he slit her throat just in time. He registered the sound first, and then he staggered backward as bullets crashed into him, each one jerking him about as he fell, the knife clattering uselessly on the linoleum floor, yet still the bullets came. Excessive. His eyes started to roll up but he fought to keep his gaze on the shooter: a dark-haired man, eyes intense behind blood-spattered glasses. And there was one thing he could tell immediately. This man, he _liked_ killing. Actually enjoyed it, and not just within the bounds of his profession. 

FBI Special Agent Will Graham knelt over Abigail's floundering body as Garrett Jacob Hobbs, in Will's body, slid down the kitchen counter, smiling. He felt a twinge of regret that Abigail had to die after all, regret that he hadn't cut her deep enough for her to die faster - but also relief that the man he suddenly recognized as himself was there to help her, that she might live, that she might still get to have a father. 

He collected his energy in shallow, forced breaths and managed to whisper his last word as the two identical men locked eyes, one scared and bewildered as he knelt in a room where the dying had quickly outnumbered the whole, the other staring him down, a crazed smile on his face. He wanted to make sure he understood. What it felt like to kill, what it felt like to be him. 

_"See?"_

\---

The first thing Will noticed about the inkblot when he opened his eyes was the symmetrical pattern of a stag's antlers. The pattern wasn't obvious before, but suddenly it was impossible for him to perceive as anything else.

The ink-stained paper hit the bottom of the wastebasket as Will left his desk for the bathroom. It was the first time he had seen himself as not just the murderer, but the victim. He had seen himself through the eyes of the man he had killed, and it was shockingly accurate. He had seen himself as the so-called Minnesota Shrike, and that was accurate as well. Yet he refused to accept either of these personas. He watched with detached fascination as he ran cold water over his wrists, felt his blood vessels constrict as the water cooled his hot skin. At least the fever told him he was still there. At least his wrists weren't running down the drain along with the water, dissolving like salt into the steady current. He was fading, but he wasn't gone yet. He was still Will Graham. But that left him just enough of a mind to wonder when he would finally topple off the edge.

There was no point in going to bed if he couldn't sleep. For a moment Will considered driving to Hannibal's house, but realized he had no reason to. He wasn't a _complete_ incompetent mess; he could handle one more hallucination, at least until their next session. At least, that's what he told himself. Alana's house was out of the question; she wasn't his therapist, and she wasn't his girlfriend. 

In the end, he decided to lay on the floor among his mass of dogs, preferring the cool ground to his entangling sheets and blankets. Listening to their steady breathing, Will tried desperately to remember what he had been like before he had known Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

**Author's Note:**

> God, I loved the water imagery in Rôti, and that scene in the other episode when Will was cutting the fish AND SUDDENLY MURDER. I hope I did everything justice - if not, I hope I improve.
> 
> This is my first time writing a fic. Any kind of feedback would be super appreciated!


End file.
